Frog DogIt had been a foolish thought, one based in selfishness and escape. Death had been an easy choice once he realized that living was about to become very difficult. As much as he wanted to think that leaving his mother there had been a mercy to both of them, Al knew better. These thoughts and other flitted through his mind as he miserably attempted to starve his body for oxygen. At the bottom of the murky river bed, the bubbles of his last breaths were the only thing visible. At this point, even if he wanted to go back, there was little chance of success. The fierce undertow of the river had a tight grasp on his flailing limbs and soon it would claim his life as it had those of so many others over countless years.
Underwater, he couldn't cry. Any tears would be lost in the current.
Was he really killing himself out of guilt?
No...
Al had always thought it was his responsibility to keep his mother alive. She would have died several years ago if he hadn't been there. Was it the guilt of leaving her in that state that led to this?
No.
Suddenly, his body got tired of his week-willed facade and was forced into motion. Instincts that bore no heed to his selfish desires propelled his limbs upward as his chest grew tighter and a pressure began to mount behind his eye sockets. He swam, and dimly, Al could make out the surface. That's funny. Isn't it deeper than that? Surprisingly, the current proved a week obstacle, and he quickly made his way toward the light above.
His soggy head broke through, and he inhaled the sweetest air he had ever tasted. Al found the river he was suddenly in to be disorientingly smaller than the one he had flung himself into. Ignoring any observations, he darted to the shore with heavy limbs. If he waited much longer, he would drown regardless of his efforts. He clawed his way up the muddy side of the bank and collapsed into a heap on the greenest grass he had ever seen. He gasped in exhaustion.
Sitting up from his sprawl, he rubbed the water from his eyes and took in his surroundings. "Where's the bridge?" he asked. He then swiveled his head. Where's the town? And suddenly, he was in the most bizarre looking forest he had ever seen.
Underwater, he couldn't cry. Any tears would be lost in the current.
Was he really killing himself out of guilt?
No...
Al had always thought it was his responsibility to keep his mother alive. She would have died several years ago if he hadn't been there. Was it the guilt of leaving her in that state that led to this?
No.
Suddenly, his body got tired of his week-willed facade and was forced into motion. Instincts that bore no heed to his selfish desires propelled his limbs upward as his chest grew tighter and a pressure began to mount behind his eye sockets. He swam, and dimly, Al could make out the surface. That's funny. Isn't it deeper than that? Surprisingly, the current proved a week obstacle, and he quickly made his way toward the light above.
His soggy head broke through, and he inhaled the sweetest air he had ever tasted. Al found the river he was suddenly in to be disorientingly smaller than the one he had flung himself into. Ignoring any observations, he darted to the shore with heavy limbs. If he waited much longer, he would drown regardless of his efforts. He clawed his way up the muddy side of the bank and collapsed into a heap on the greenest grass he had ever seen. He gasped in exhaustion.
Sitting up from his sprawl, he rubbed the water from his eyes and took in his surroundings. "Where's the bridge?" he asked. He then swiveled his head. Where's the town? And suddenly, he was in the most bizarre looking forest he had ever seen.
